


Between Moves

by margdean56



Series: Tower Mountain/New Hope stories [5]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: Gen, Humor, Razmak, Tower Mountain, Widget
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margdean56/pseuds/margdean56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's important to remember can depend on your point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Moves

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in collaboration with my then-husband, who created the gamer-elf Razmak for Tower Mountain. I was the one who wrote it down, but Rob supplied all of Razmak's dialogue.
> 
> Originally published in _Tales of the Tower #6/7_

The tall, gaunt, white-haired elf stared down at the pyramidal game board in front of him, studying the effect of his opponent’s last move. “You are turning into a very clever player, Foi,” said Razmak. He scrutinized the board for a few heartbeats longer, then shifted one of his honey-yellow playing pieces to a higher level. “Not that it will save you…”

The small red-haired elf sitting across from him snickered. “Razmak, you’re bluffing. I’ll be off the top in four moves, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”

“Nonsense,” Razmak replied mildly. “Much as I like you, Foi, I’ve never known you to be able to see more than one move ahead.” In answer, the small elf picked up a deep red stone, tossed it into the air, caught it, then set it in a higher hollow of the seven-level pyramid. He looked triumphantly over at Razmak, who was studying the board again. “However—”

The old elf’s dark blue eyes gleamed with anticipation. He might actually lose this match! He had not lost a game of Tower to anyone but Lord Tyaar (and that only occasionally) in more eights than he cared to think about. The prospect of learning something new about the familiar game was an enticing one. Absently he brushed back his shaggy white hair with one hand as he stared down at the red and yellow game counters. The pattern of probable moves fanned out from them like an invisible webwork in his mind. Quite an elegant pattern, it was. Razmak wondered if it had come about by chance or design. If the latter, Foi was turning into a very clever player indeed. It was an almost perfect trap, but perhaps there was one way out…

Just as he was reaching for the topaz playing piece he wanted, Kesik’s slightly hoarse voice broke into the silence. “Are you playing a game, Father?”

Razmak glanced over his shoulder at his son, who stood in the curtained doorway of Razmak’s chambers with a tray in his hands. Kesik was a fine boy, the old elf thought, but a little slow sometimes. He should be able to see perfectly well what Razmak was doing. Indeed, Kesik soon answered his own question. “Of course you’re playing a game. What else should I expect to find you doing? How long has it been since you ate something?” The younger elf’s voice had taken on a faintly scolding tone.

Razmak blinked at him, considering his question. “I’m not quite sure,” he responded at last. “Which season is this?”

Kesik sighed and came farther into the room with the tray. “Well, I’ve brought you up something from the kitchens. Your favorite, Father—fresh-baked yellowmeal bread, and some goat cheese to spread on it.” He set the tray down at Razmak’s elbow. Kesik had had to go down to the troll caverns to fetch the pasty, strong-flavored cheese, since most elves wouldn’t touch the stuff.

The old elf patted his son’s arm fondly. “You’re a good, dutiful son, Kesik.” He motioned at the Tower board. “Have a look at this, my boy. Have you ever seen such an elegant trap?”

Kesik looked at the board and nodded politely, though it was plain he couldn’t really tell what Razmak was talking about. After a moment he asked, “Is this a game you’re playing with yourself, Father?”

Razmak snorted. “Of course not! Does this look like my style to you? Foi is very close to victory, let me tell you!” The white-haired elf looked across the table and then frowned in bewilderment at his opponent’s empty chair. “Now, where has he got to? He was here a moment ago. He can’t have gone off in the middle of a game.”

Kesik was staring at his father with a stunned expression on his long face. “Foi? Foi was here, in this room?” He glanced quickly around the chamber, but saw only the familiar clutter of carelessly discarded mismatched clothing and gaming equipment. Even the painted geometrical diagrams on the walls were undisturbed. The renegade rockshaper now known as Widget had vanished. “Why didn’t you tell me?” the castellan demanded.

“I am telling you,” Razmak replied patiently. “He was here just before you came in, and I must say his game’s improved—”

“Father, haven’t I told you to send to me at once any time you catch a glimpse of Foi?” Kesik exclaimed in despair. “Sometimes I think you don’t remember what I say from one day to the next! Lord Tyaar has been trying to get hold of Foi for the past eight-of-eight-of-eights and more!”

Razmak fixed his son with a stern gaze. “Kesik, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say. If Lord Tyaar wishes to speak to Foi, he can simply go to his chambers and send for him, like any civilized elf.”

Kesik attempted to explain. “Father, Foi is insane. He has gone renegade. The Declared have standing orders to capture him and bring him to Lord Tyaar for treatment. I’ve told you before—”

His father shook his shaggy head. “I really don’t know where you get these ideas, Kesik. Foi, insane? I’ll grant you he’s been dressing oddly of late—he used to wear more clothes, as I recall—but you know I can never keep track of these passing fashions.” Razmak’s statement was easy to believe, since his own garb at the moment consisted of a pale green tunic belted over a pair of rusty orange trousers, and boots from two markedly different pairs. “But insane? No!” the old elf went on. He gestured at the game board. “I ask you, Kesik, does this look like the produce of a disordered mind? You might just as well call Lord Tyaar himself insane.”

Kesik opened his mouth, closed it, then let his head sink into his hands. “Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ll inform the Declared myself.”

“Declared.” Razmak repeated the word as if he had never heard it before, frowning in concentration. Then his face cleared. “Oh yes, that novel idea of Lord Tyaar’s. He mentioned it to me some time ago—when we were playing Seven-Square, I believe. Something to do with the hawkriders, was it not?”

“Father, the Declared were established over four eights-of-eights-of-eights ago.”

“Is that so? My, how time does go on,” Razmak observed. He beamed at Kesik. “Now that I come to think about it, you’re one of these Declared too, aren’t you, Kesik? I remember the ceremony quite well. Very impressive, with everyone lined up in those neat rows. It reminded me of that Battle game Twillor and Eylar squeaked past me during the migration. Eylar always did have an orderly mind. So you see, you needn’t say I don’t remember things,” Razmak finished triumphantly.

Kesik gave up. “Yes, Father. I have to be about my duties now. Don’t forget to eat what’s on that tray.”

“I shan’t,” the old elf promised. “Really, Kesik, you shouldn’t fret over me so. At my age, I ought to be trusted to look after myself.” Kesik shook his head, sighed and left the room to report to Lord Tyaar that Widget had been sighted.

When he had gone, Razmak turned to study the game board once more. He took a piece of the warm yellow bread and spread cheese onto it. He really was fond of goat cheese. How thoughtful of Kesik. The lad certainly had some strange ideas, but he had always been a good son. Sighing contentedly, Razmak leaned back in his chair and waited for Foi to return and finish their game. He thought he knew how he could beat the rockshaper now, though he cherished the hope that he might be wrong. How wonderful it would be if Foi had come up with a new strategy. If he had, Razmak might be able to try it himself in his next game of Tower with Lord Tyaar. Though now that he came to think of it, Baz had used a similar strategy once, not long after the settlement of Tower Mountain, and Tyaar had almost certainly been watching. Still, Tyaar might have forgotten. Razmak had noticed that other elves didn’t always recall things as clearly as he did.

Which was odd, because Razmak remembered them perfectly.


End file.
